A LONGMIRe WRITeR

Poems, Stories and Experiments by Warren C Longmire

[alongmirewriter]

I makes even more sense if you are from philly. insta: @alongmirewriter

[visual-poetry]

»see something you like?« by kristin mciver (+)

[alongmirewriter]

inspirations

[visual-poetry]

by kay rosen (+)

[via]

[alongmirewriter]

nuf said.

[alongmirewriter]

A recent Douglas Kearney talk (yo SHOOOOTS to him) reinspired an old obesssion for position, layout and graphical placement in poems.

This also takes from a bunch of poems I’ve been trying to write (for what seems like forever on the real) towards talking about my true, true love for the thought and philosophy behind computer programming.

It was never about the money as far as I was concerned. Now the power? That might be another thing. What’s more powerful (in theory) that chasing a language that creates everything?

[alongmirewriter]

I heard this newly released Regina Spektor song shortly after the massive Camp and Woolsey wildfires in California and days before a fire in my own house. I’ve alway loved the simple, innocent beauty of Spektor’s songs and this one, born of a time that so easily shadows even the idea of hope, felt particularly inspiring.

[alongmirewriter]

Pigeon or High School Etymologies of a Local Disappearance

Wherefore jawn was born as an ass or the human attached to it and the assumption of proximity to my penis. Wherefore jawn as my penis or the human attached to it and the assumption of its soul. Its self and the body as just a wagging thing, trailing behind the jawn or pulled by it. Wherefore what is leading becomes the jawn, its separation from you and its attachment, or the memory dancing out of reach, wrapping around us warm and womb. Or just the describing of it. Grasping for the jawn. Home but unknowable. Unspoken but shared, a shape of a poem known by heart. The one you heard in church and didn’t know was a poem until the college professor said so, gazing hood-eyed over the lectern, straight-faced reciting jawn like a tombstone saying, a jingle, or a monomyth with lipstick black as dirt.

[alongmirewriter]

Why Movies are not set in the year 3000

The eyes wrapped in screen become my avatar next week. Haves have branded baby chromosomes is an obvious safety net. Death is a sickness. The oppression of less then infinite. Space as big as my rocketship. The third stage explosion must mirror the dream. I have one too. It looks like ceramic knives, smartphone glass and milk. I am not afraid of heights, but nobody likes hot things nobody talks to strangers, I am good person. I am good. I have always been. We don't have to show that on tv.

[alongmirewriter]

via: thisisnthappiness.com

[alongmirewriter]

Objectified

Everywhere. All the ones that made it. The chalk mark of ft of track to lay. The words curated and outlined in black. The professional's font. The fabric’s architect slept with his best friend. The publicist's mood. How you made it: The stretch of leather stripped of hair has won that shoe. The herder that was preferred for some reason. The correct feed and strain of grass. The shift in the season that didn’t escape the object’s intent: The belch of the smelting factory. Her grandfather's guts and not his uncle’s. Spilled on the street. Noted the air and guessed right. The one that won. My favorite translation of sine. The blue of new playdoe. The tolerance of my lap. The thickness of her palm and I need it by Monday. I prefer it drizzled with polyurethane. Non-stick. Matte finished. Make it in noon-cloud white, and money green as a start. Measure it twice. Make three thousand units. Do it with love.

[alongmirewriter]

How to be White

It’s a nice place to play. It’s the polite word. I like being the                    kind. I feel most safe when I am good. I know what that means:                   Good. Who are you? My means are the means I know and so                        fine. They are the means to reach right. I read good. The word explains.                    my pain is the rock. Ask my room. The room that meets every tues                      day where we gather in peace, chanting my word. Expanding                                my word learns the span of my right. Left. The funding of my center is                          white. Earned through the sight of their perfect. Our perfect                                         Mind. I’m not use to wrong being ok. This feels off. You do it to. What did I say the first time?                                                                                                                        I am the light.

[alongmirewriter]

From a great reading at South Jersey Poets Collective at a beautiful hall on the shores of Atlantic City.  The first poem you’ll here is mostly a cover of an old meme about an old search engine long forgotten and the joke that arose from a reddit thread around it. The second is about making things, many of them, the disaster and joy that comes from that. It was mostly inspired by this documentary.

[alongmirewriter]

This was a piece I wrote and later created a graphic from my time in the bay area video game development scene. My first manager was handling a psp port for EA’s last licensed James Bond game, From Russia with Love. I’ll never forget going out with him and our small team for lunch at the tail end of a 3 month long crunch period full of 50 hour days. He was obsessed with a pair of yak balls he bought somewhere on some trip and randomly said, you know, sometimes you just have to get up in the morning and say that “maybe today is the day the aliens will finally come.” I quit that job a good 5 months after that. It was a very complicated time for me. This piece is a reflection of that.

[alongmirewriter]

Yo the span of what became the metropolarity collective, black quantum futures and the afro-futurist affair. So glad to be able to watch and join in with the tight seed of a black creativity and possibility camae defstar and Rasheedah Phillips continue to cultivate. This performance was the start to a one man show I put together in 2014 in promotion of the Recurrence Plot: And Other Time Travel Tales release party

[alongmirewriter]

One of a series of erasures poems & translations of them from a long out of print biography of Dizzy Gillespie I picked up for 5 bucks at the Last Word on 40th. I’ve always loved jazz. The constant push for progression inside of it inside is still inspirational. I tend more towards hard bop, but it’s been amazing digging into the stories Parker, Dizzy, Christian, Monk and the many other random open micers that lead to this world changing genre and then, often and tragicially, died from pain or addiction.  See some more excerpts from this project at https://www.thetinymag.com/warren-c-longmire/. Full collection to be released this spring through Empty Set Press.

[alongmirewriter]

One of a string of processing experiments, this one messing with synonyms of CHILL. Nothing like complicating relaxation right? Find the code here.

[alongmirewriter]

This is the last time I swear.

At Vertex, we call one browser tab worth of inputs a scene. Each scene is collected with a CRUD functions defining creation, reading, updating and the deletion of a resource of which there are almost 50 max. My resource at vertex is the taxpayer. A taxpayer is an entry type, a start and indeterminate end date and a reason code. My hp laptop clicks into half cubes with a heavy plastic switch reminiscent of classic ThinkPad. Every morning: two monitors on articulated arms. One in landscape shows the scene where my client edits the taxpayer. Applies a discount code. Verifies their taxability. Multiple jurisdictions possible on a product a list of imposition pulled from our listings: the Local Privilege Tax of the native reservation is a district in Arizona. I don’t know what I’m suppose to know. I just know in code. My second monitor is in portrait mode. Scrolling devtools of each request. Red warning text say I need another space after line 305’s colon. The taxpayer logs of the object inside and object we are defining is the unique key when tagged with a dollar sign. Our Fooda app lunch program says American Halal is serving us today. We slouch eating lamb as CNN captions what is breaking. In the blue wing outside the window of the pindrop room our leased-out lake giggles. The  fountain pump’s edge falls into a square.

[nevver]

Robert Montgomery

[alongmirewriter]

God one of these days I need to set a poem on fire. ...probably after I move into a new house though ;)